


Missing the Point

by AlizarinDreams



Series: Late Night Talks [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlizarinDreams/pseuds/AlizarinDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cas is evasive, Dean doesn't get it, until maybe he does, and Balthazar wasn't wrong. Set after 6.18, Frontierland. Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing the Point

Dean wakes up to Castiel nudging at his shoulder at four in the morning. He’s not particularly pleased about the situation so he grunts a sleepy, “What?” and doesn’t feel remotely guilty.

 

“I want to get drunk,” is the blunt answer.

 

Dean frowns and rubs at his eyes, trying to clear his vision. He has the sneaking suspicion he won’t be getting any more sleep tonight. “And?”

 

“And I don’t want to do it alone.”

 

“Too bad, I doubt there’s enough alcohol here to get you drunk. Didn’t it take an entire liquor store last time?” He rolls over.

 

“Yes. I planned ahead.” Castiel sweeps his arm out, drawing Dean’s attention to the veritable army of bottles scattered around the room in Bobby’s house that Dean had long ago staked out as his.

 

“Christ,” Dean swears appreciatively.

 

Castiel says nothing, merely bends to pick up a bottle at random and pass it to Dean, and then another for himself.

 

Dean wearily drags himself into a sitting position with his back against the wall before beginning to twist the cap off the beer bottle in his hands.

 

“Well, if we’re doing this, you may as well take a seat. And take off the damned coat and jacket, would you? That is _not_ appropriate getting wasted attire.”

 

“I did not realize there was a dress code,” Cas says stiffly as he shrugs out of his outer layers and tosses them over the chair in the corner.

 

It takes Dean a second to realize he’s playing him.

 

Cas pauses for a second before toeing off the dress shoes as well and copying Dean’s position on the bed.

 

“Sorry about Rachel,” Dean says after a few minutes of watching in awe as Castiel chugs his way through several bottles. He’d lecture about the joys of taking it slow, but Cas doesn’t seem to give a shit about what he’s drinking, doesn’t even read the labels, and it takes so much to get him drunk who knew how long they’d be there if Cas bothered to taste what he was pouring down his throat.

 

Cas purses his lips and stares down the neck of what looks like a bottle of really old scotch and says nothing.

 

“She seemed – were you… close?”

“She was a good lieutenant,” Cas says tightly and it occurs to Dean that this is probably the last conversation Cas wants to have. “I am… _so sick_ of killing my brothers.” He closes his eyes, downs the last of the scotch, and picks up the next bottle.

 

Another bottle for Dean and five for Cas before Dean breaks the silence because Sam is turning out to be a better drinking buddy than the miserable angel seated next to him.

 

“She – sorta had a point about us only calling you when we need you, so, er, sorry about that.”

 

Cas lets out a derisive snort and Dean figures that an apology doesn’t really make up for treating a friend like a tool and nothing more for the better part of a year. Dean would regret it more if he’d completely forgiven Cas for taking off immediately after Sam jumped into the Pit.

 

And this is really not what he wants to be thinking about because it might well lead into talking about their feelings and Dean gets enough of that with Sam.

 

“Balthazar said you’re in love with me,” Dean conversationally slurs himself into a conversation that’s well nigh guaranteed to involve emotions.

 

Cas licks his lips, stares straight ahead, and takes a long, long swallow from whatever it is he’s drinking now. “Does it bother you?” he asks at last, voice deeper and rougher than usual which Dean _thinks_ is from the alcohol, but he could be wrong.

 

And that was so not the reaction he’d been expecting.

 

He laughs nervously and says, “I don’t even know what the fuck that means.” He can’t look at Cas so he picks up another beer and fails a few times at getting it open.

 

The angel just lets out that groaning sigh of how exhausting he finds Dean’s denseness that Dean just then realizes how much he’s missed.

 

“It means-“

 

And Dean’s pretty sure his voice constitutes a growl at this point, low and rough and it scrapes a path down Dean’s spine.

 

“It means that I caused 50,000 people to _never be born_ to keep you alive. It means that I became _human_ , killed many of my brothers, and molotoved an archangel, Heaven’s most beautiful, with holy fire, and consequently _died,_ for you.”

 

And Dean really has no idea what to say to that. He remembers being slammed into an alley wall and Castiel grating out “ _I gave everything for you_ ” their faces inches apart and yeah, maybe he should’ve figured it out then, or at least wondered, but all he’d been able to think about at the time was pain.

 

He swallows thickly, gulps more beer than can really be healthy, and still the only thing he can think to say is, “You died twice.”

 

“The first time was because I believed in your cause. The second time… I don’t think I believed in anything. I died for you”

 

“So… do you, like, want to fuck me or something?” And _oh god_ does Dean wish he hadn’t said that because there is no way he wants to know that answer, but he’s too stubborn, proud, and drunk to call it back.

 

Castiel rolls his eyes and his entire freaking head and says, “ _Humans._ ” A pause, an inhalation, and, “That’s not the point.”

 

And again, not the response Dean had expected. He laughs, can’t help it. “Okay, sure, so what _is_ the point?”

 

Cas shoots him a glare that could kill, and Dean’s really glad it doesn’t because he has no doubt that Castiel really could kill him with a look if he wanted.

 

“Right, dying for me, stupid question.”

 

Castiel finishes whatever’s left in the bottle in his hands and gropes awkwardly for the next one. Dean’s dimly aware that a human would be hospitalized for drinking a fraction of what the angel has and yet the guy’s just approaching the drunk side of tipsy.

 

“So, _do you_?” Because Dean can’t quite seem to let the idea go and now he really fucking needs to know.

 

Cas sighs again. “ _That’s not_ – I’ve thought about it,” he relents.

 

Fuck.

 

“And?”

 

“And what?” Cas is drunk and surly and if Dean weren’t drunk as well he would _not_ be finding this adorable.

 

“What did you think about it?” Dean presses, drawing his legs up onto the bed and twisting to half face him; he’s way too into this idea.

 

“I think that you’re enough of a… man-slut that it would pretty much have to be… good.” There’s no way Dean is imagining the grumpy note to Cas’ voice like he doesn’t want to be discussing this but is too wasted to successfully deflect. “And infinitely preferable to sex with Chastity.”

 

“Chastity?”

 

“The whore.”

 

It says something about either Dean’s life or his idea of Castiel that it takes him a second to realize he means a more standard whore than The Whore of Babylon, whatever her name had been.

 

“And what else?”

 

“What do you mean?” Cas’ got his knees drawn halfway up to his chest and it’s such a human thing that Dean’s utterly distracted and fascinated and inexplicably turned on.

 

“I mean, like, what did you think about us doing?”

 

He keeps his face averted and grumbles, “I really didn’t give it that much thought.”

 

“Fuck yeah you did,” Dean crows, leaning forward, empty beer bottle pushed to the side. “So what do you want me to do?”

 

Cas jerks his head around to stare at him, “Wh-“

 

“Do you want me to just suck you off? Or do you want me to fuck you? Would you want it slow or rough? It’s not like I can hurt you.” Dean’s distantly aware that he has his hand on Castiel’s knee and he’s pushing down, straightening his leg out as he crowds into the other man’s space. If Dean were sober, he’d be more concerned about how thin his boxers are and how they aren’t doing a damn thing to hide how very, very into this he is.

 

“ _Or_ , do you really want to fuck me? On my hands and knees or spread out underneath you? I could ride you,” he suggests and fuck he cannot believe the things coming out of his mouth. “Or you could ride me. Fuck, that’d be hot, watching you move on top of me. Do you scream when you come, Cas?”

 

“Dean-“ And there’s no denying how wide the angel’s eyes are or how dilated his pupils are or how ragged his breathing has become.

 

Dean’s got his fingers in the angel’s dark hair and it’s soft and thick between his fingers. The other hand has drifted up from Cas’ knee to his thigh. “Or we could get a little bit frisky. One of us could get tied up with that tie of yours, spanked like the babysitter in that skin flick you watched, you seemed to like that.”

 

“Dean, you’re drunk and this is entirely-“

 

Whatever this is, Cas doesn’t object when Dean kisses him. It’s surprisingly slow and careful considering the filth Dean’s been spouting as Dean cups Castiel’s face in his hands and suppresses the urge to just take his mouth.

 

“Dean-“ He goes quiet when the hunter slowly pushes him onto his back on the mattress, because for all that’s he’s very drunk and very turned on and he’s pretty certain the angel wants this too, if his half-hard cock is anything to go by, he still needs to be sure. But Cas just lets him, doesn’t say a word, as Dean presses him down by his shoulders. He doesn’t push him off when Dean kisses him again once he’s flush to the mattress. It’s deeper this time, faster, and there’s nothing Dean can do but groan when the angel opens his mouth so readily to his tongue, nothing to do but groan and lower his own body down to rock his hips against the angel’s.

 

Cas lets out a sound that’s a cross between a moan and a whimper and breaks the kiss, tilts his head back and his hips up. Dean keeps the rocking of his hips slow and light and teasing. Beneath him Cas whines and thrusts and twists his fingers in the thin comforter covering the mattress.

 

Dean bites at the knob of his jaw and swipes his tongue up the pale neck and Cas just shudders and tries to keep breathing.

 

“Will you let me fuck your mouth, Cas? Would you like that? You, on your knees in front of me, my cock as far down your throat as you can take it?” Dean breathes out the words, breath ghosting over the spit-slick skin in front of his mouth, grinding his hips down harder now. “How far do you think you can take it? Think you can take it all the way, Cas? Do you want to find out? Tell me, tell me what you want.”

 

And that is apparently Cas’ breaking point. Dean abruptly finds himself pinned to the mattress by the shoulders.

 

“All of it. I want all of it.”


End file.
